


Down Time

by kronette



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 12:59:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon is woken up by Illya's snores. Illya retaliates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down Time

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted August 1999 under my other pseud, Shelley Wright.

A soft gentle rumble caused Napoleon Solo to crack his eyes open.  He had been sleeping soundly when the unusual sound alerted his senses.  Always wary of a THRUSH plot, he made a quick but thorough assessment of his surroundings….and a slow smile crossed his features.  His fingers brushed feather-light over a chest dusted with fine hairs.  He inhaled sharply, taking in the scent of one Illya Kuryakin, whose warm back lay plastered against his chest.  Hearing fine-tuned and senses on full alert, Napoleon found the gentle rumble coincided with the rise of Illya’s chest: his lover was snoring. 

Suppressing a snort of laughter, Napoleon nudged up against his lover and whispered, “Illya.”  He tightened his grip as the Russian jerked awake, knowing Illya would be disoriented and instantly on alert.  He quickly assured him with, “Illya, it’s all right.  You were snoring,” whispered in his ear. 

The lithe body slowly relaxed against him, but Napoleon didn’t loosen his grip. 

“I do not snore,” Illya responded indignantly. 

“Then we must have a faulty communication device around here,” he answered softly as he nuzzled into the neck below his mouth.  “Because I distinctly heard a buzzing sound.” 

“Perhaps there is a bee loose in the apartment,” Illya retorted calmly.  “You should check.” 

“I  _am_ checking,” Napoleon assured his lover as he mouthed his way down one fair shoulder.  Long hours spent learning the body of his partner served him well as he started a slow assault on Illya’s weak spots.  His hand absently traced along the muscled chest, eliciting a soft moan from his companion.  “Ah, there it is again.” 

“That was not a buzz,” Illya exclaimed softly. 

“Nor was it a bee.”  Napoleon drew a fingernail lightly across one nipple on his way down Illya’s ribs.  Fingertips grazed the firm, flat stomach to tangle in the thick mat of curls at the base of his goal.  “And that is not a communication device,” he murmured as his whole body awoke to the man in his arms. 

A mat of blond hair raked across his face as Illya shifted in his arms.  “Napoleon…” he groaned. 

“There it is again,” he whispered as his hand closed around…

Illya sat up and glared down at him.  “Napoleon.  Mr. Waverly wants us in the office at nine a.m.”

“But Illya,” he started to whine. 

“Nine a.m.,” he stressed.  “It is currently,” Illya glanced to the clock, “Four a.m.   I would like to get some more sleep, if that is alright with you.” 

“You’re the one who woke me up in the first place!” he protested as he sat up. 

“Napoleon, now is not the time for this.  I want to sleep.”  And with that, Illya lay back down out of his circle of reach. 

Napoleon tried to bore a hole through to the stubborn Russian’s heart, but even his frustrated sigh was ignored.  Resigned, he turned his back to Illya and tried to sleep. 

~~~

Illya surfaced to consciousness with a throaty moan and wondered what had awoken him.  He blinked the sleep from his eyes and focused on the clock.  Six twenty-five in the morning.  As his eyes swept the bedroom, an unusual noise drew his attention.  He rolled to his left and just avoided hitting his partner.  Napoleon still slept, his arms wrapped around a pillow tucked to his chest.  An uncharacteristic, unreserved smile broke over Illya’s face.  He propped himself up on his left elbow and drew his fingers lightly down Napoleon’s arm, pushing the blanket further down the toned body.  He brushed the back of his knuckles up and down his lover’s chest, whispering, “Napoleon.” 

A muffled snore was the response. 

Illya’s smile turned wicked as his hand tucked into the waistband of Napoleon’s pajama bottoms and trailed down his flank.  His hand slid further down Napoleon’s thigh to gently squeeze his ass.  His lover shifted and snorted lightly, but didn’t waken. 

Illya would soon change that situation.  He quietly slipped off his boxers and oh, so, delicately removed the pillow from Napoleon’s arms.  His lover grunted but otherwise offered no resistance.   He would have to be careful; Napoleon’s reflexes were just as lethal as his, but he usually retained a better sense of where he was.  Napoleon just struck out when awakened.   To make life more interesting, he had to make sure Napoleon didn’t roll onto his stomach or it would spoil his living canvas.  

Careful to just barely touch skin, he traced along Napoleon’s collarbone with a fingertip.  From the shoulder, inward to the breastbone, the muscled pec to the other collarbone bunched in with the pillow.  His hand dipped lower to circle the pink-tipped nipple, then the nail grazed across the surface until it was hard.  He quickly repeated the gesture on the other side. 

The length underneath Napoleon’s pants, which had been only mildly interested before, displayed a growing interest in the proceedings.  Leaning closer, his tongue flicked out to taste the hard nub.  Carefully licking it, he blew a warm gust of air over it, sending a tremor through his lover.  He repeated the action on the partially hidden twin, paying it lavish attention as well. 

His hand returned to the warmth of Napoleon’s pajama bottoms and its familiar place across his ass.  Fingertips stroked lightly along the cleft as his mouth moved against the inviting neck, tasting the salty-sweat gathering there.  His hair brushed the underside of Napoleon’s jaw as he slowly rubbed his head back and forth teasingly. 

A low moan vibrated through Napoleon’s chest, and Illya backed away quickly as the older man started to roll over onto his back.  He was slightly disappointed – his fingers had just started an interesting journey, but he couldn’t be upset for long.  For now he had more canvas to work with! 

He planted his hands on either side of Napoleon’s waist for leverage, eyes taking in the feast before him.  Hair tousled from sleep, Napoleon looked all of twelve years old.  As his gaze traveled lower, the image of a little boy was ripped from his mind.  He hesitated to go down on Napoleon just yet; he wanted to see how far he could push his luck.  

Quickly he ducked his head under his lover’s jaw and mouthed along the exposed neck.  He blazed a trail down the firm chest, his breath teasing the warming flesh as the ends of his shaggy hair dragged across the sensitized skin. 

After working on Napoleon for several long, agonizing minutes, Illya’s own need was demanding attention.  Swinging his right leg over Napoleon’s prone body carefully, he settled himself down on Napoleon’s erection, gently pushing it forward.  He rested back on Napoleon’s thighs, barely able to keep his moan soft enough not to wake Napoleon just yet.  He leaned forward, kissing lightly along his lover’s jaw line, tongue catching in the rough stubble.  He listened for the change of breathing that signaled Napoleon was on the verge of waking up.  A slight hitch, then another and he moved for Napoleon’s lips.  He slipped a hand between their bodies and gave his lover an intimate pinch. 

Napoleon gasped awake and tried to bolt upright, only to make full contact with Illya’s mouth.  He resisted, but Illya kept up a steady pressure, shifting slightly to feel Napoleon’s erection against his own.  These seconds of disorientation were what Illya craved.  The knowledge that Napoleon could turn on him; the  struggles until he realized who it was; his lover’s submission to him.  Suddenly, Napoleon relaxed into the kiss, jaw slackening to let Illya’s invading tongue meet with his. 

One of Napoleon’s hands was at the small of his back, the other in his hair applying more pressure than necessary.  A thrill raced down Illya’s spine; that was just what he wanted this morning.  Strength for strength.  He retaliated by pulling back and nipping at Napoleon’s lower lip.  The slight distraction gave him the time necessary to grab one of Napoleon’s wrists and hold it down.  He caught the other hand mid-movement and pushed it to the mattress next to Napoleon’s head. 

Napoleon was writhing underneath him, driving him closer to the edge of insanity with every thrust.  Illya caught the glitter in the brown depths of his lover’s eyes just before Napoleon’s leg was over his.  He was thrown off-balance, giving Napoleon the upper hand.  With one quick twist, Illya was on his back, Napoleon pressed deliciously down on him.  His wrists were quickly seized and held above his head. 

Illya slowly licked his lips as he took a moment to catch his breath.  He strained upwards, just to let Napoleon know he was ready. 

But it was his lover’s turn to tease.  Napoleon rotated his hips, still encased in his surprisingly practical cotton pajama bottoms.  “So, my little Russian…” he murmured. 

“Do not call me little,” he growled with a thrust of his hips. 

“Never that, Illya.  Never  _that_ ,” Napoleon laughed as he descended upon the moving body under him. 

Illya threw his head back as Napoleon’s tongue mimicked his earlier torture of Napoleon’s body.  Direct lines of heat went from nipple to groin, drawing a ragged moan from him.  The ache of arousal was almost painful, and he wretched out, “Now.” 

“What, now?” Napoleon asked, though his own breath was coming in short gasps. 

“Now, damn you!” he hissed, wriggling his legs out from under Napoleon, digging his heels into the mattress and slamming his hips into Napoleon’s.  He was abruptly let go, his momentary pang of loss replaced by sweet anticipation as Napoleon quickly stripped off his pants, rooted around in the drawer until he found the necessary tube, and returned to kneel between Illya’s legs.  

Illya immediately grabbed his own knees and focused on Napoleon’s fingers stretching him.  It had been awhile since they had had the time for sex in this manner.  It was too involved, too consuming for them to attempt it often.  But they had just come off assignment, having dealt THRUSH a deadly blow.  They only had to fill out the closing paperwork in the morning…in a few hours.  Until then, the time was theirs. 

Napoleon leaned forward and kissed him passionately.  Illya’s hands dropped from his knees as he felt Napoleon’s erection nudge into him.  He grasped Napoleon’s waist tightly, forcing himself to relax enough to…

Both men groaned as Napoleon broke through the tight ring of muscle and nestled deep inside his lover.  Illya’s fingertips were white against Napoleon’s skin as he adjusted to the full length of his partner. 

“Okay?” Napoleon rasped, holding himself steady with effort. 

Illya nodded sharply once, then Napoleon began to move.  Each thrust drove Napoleon deeper, hitting that special place deep inside that caused Illya’s insides to curl.  He raked his nails up Napoleon’s back, curled his hands in his lover’s hair, and pulled him down for a deep, probing kiss.  The kiss ended in a choked sob as Napoleon’s hand finally closed around his neglected erection.  Illya’s hand joined Napoleon’s, and they brought him to a quick, shattering climax. 

Napoleon’s entire body went rigid, and Illya could feel him deep inside, but lethargy had already claimed him.  Napoleon fell weakly to his chest, and he wiped his hand down the sweat-soaked back. 

“Sleep,” he murmured, though whether it was a request or a plea, he couldn’t say.  His last thought was how they would make their 9 a.m. appointment.  Sleep claimed him before he could think anymore. 

The End

 


End file.
